


A helping hand

by Iresolatio



Series: Checks and balances [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alley Blow Jobs, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Pre-Canon, There's A Tag For That
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:40:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25380025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iresolatio/pseuds/Iresolatio
Summary: Soused, Hal Gates decides that he's going to follow Flint into the alleyway. He's eventually treated to a helping hand (and mouth), but he's not content to leave it alone so he asks Flint -who?
Relationships: Captain Flint | James McGraw/Hal Gates, Captain Flint | James McGraw/Original Male Character (no one important)
Series: Checks and balances [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1963375
Comments: 10
Kudos: 32





	A helping hand

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is unbetaed.

Gates had a belly full of meat and bread, topped off with rum. He felt pleasantly soused. They had made port a couple of days ago, carrying decent hauls. The men were in good spirits, and those with urgent needs to expend some of such spirits were being sated next door, which left most of the rest in the tavern with him and Flint.

Gates noticed Flint’s eyes again drift sideways to the table closer to the wall towards the back. The man who Flint had eyed off and on that night got up and made elaborate theatre of leaving. Gates knew it was for Flint. Lawless Nassau did not require subtlety in these games, but Flint liked to be the infallible captain of the Walrus, encouraged Mrs Barlow’s sanctification, and pretended to be above such petty human needs.

Flint’s lax attitude to goings-on onboard between crew members had come as a surprise to Gates initially, what with Flint’s naval background, and then as he’d gotten to know the captain, he’d understood the reasons why. Flint hadn’t sat him down in front of a fire and told him as such, but he’d worked it out, nonetheless. What gave him away was the way Flint’s gaze lingered on certain men in the crew.

Flint made his excuses to him and left shortly after the other man. Macklin? It looked like Macklin from Lockhard’s crew now Gates had properly seen his profile. He was their carpenter, and looked a little like Billy, amply built, tall, and blond. Gates could scan a tavern and immediately identify those who would hold Flint’s fancy. They all looked different, but Gates would bet Flint was trying to make up for the loss of one tall yellow haired man. Gates gave Flint another couple of minutes, then he followed. He knew where to go; he’d been Flint’s quartermaster long enough. 

Once outside he went to the alley beside the tavern. It stank of cabbage and hops, and as Gates stepped past a wall of barrels, his boot sank into a rotten apple. He tried to scrape it on a cobble with limited success. He kept to the shadows and there they were, further down, visible clearly in the moonlight. Flint had the man pressed to the wall of the whorehouse. To one side were a pile of their weapons, along with their belts, tossed limp.

Gates stopped when he could see both. He saw Flint repeatedly drag his crotch sideways and back against the other man’s, as the man did the same in turn. It was a hypnotic sway and unexpectedly sensual, especially when Flint grabbed his partner’s hips so he could press forwards into him as well, which increased the pressure. Flint and Macklin were both stared down at themselves, mesmerised by the motion. Gates could see the results of the tease, bulges clear. The same motion got rougher until Flint stopped and started to unbutton the other man’s breeches. Flint was quick and slipped each button loose with practised ease, and then he did his own. Flint’s partner took it as an invitation and slipped his fingers around Flint. No sound from Flint at that, but that was the bastard, unmoved despite provocation, here or at sea.

Flint grasped Macklin in a similar way and they both started to pump each other’s cocks, slow and fulsome. Again, there was some beauty in their movement. Gates didn’t care about that, or when he caught the gleam of fluid caught in the moonlight between them. It was when he saw Flint’s relaxed face, tense mouth softened. That was perfect. Gates liked seeing Flint exposed like this, for good reason— not the other. Not blood and blankness followed by raw regret. He wrenched his attention back to them. They were still at it, as they fisted each other in slick grips. Flint again had Macklin pressed to the wall, very much in control of the action. Macklin let out soft gasps every so often, barely huffs of air, but it was loud in the alleyway. Flint brought his hand, which rested on the wall beside the other man to cover Macklin’s mouth to cut off those betraying breaths. Macklin started at that, and Gates could see his hips jerk forward in response. Macklin really liked that; despite what Flint’s intention had originally been.

Gates imagined it, his own lips mashed to his teeth, as Flint did the same to him. As Flint guided his moves, told him what to do, made him beg. Nothing like the light banter and dance of their everyday interactions as quartermaster and captain. He’d always imagined this would be what tangling with Flint would be like, Flint wrenching pleasure from bodies in his net. He realised that Flint now had Macklin’s cock in his hand and was stood to the side so better to pump Macklin’s cock, fluid and smooth. Flint had ended up facing Gates. Gates thanked his choice of dark shirt and leather vest, which didn’t catch enough light to illuminate him against the wall of barrels.

Flint had slowed down, Gates thought, as his partner approached the edge. Flint had wrenched release away. Gates didn’t hear it, whatever sound Macklin emitted in response, but he heard Flint say _Be quiet_ to him. Harsh, too loud. Gates knew that voice, it was one that got people killed. To hear it in this context, when he knew what Flint was capable of ought to get him to flee, but he was transfixed by the tableau as Flint twisted pleasure out of Macklin, almost without Macklin’s cooperation.

It aroused him. Flint was more than half a head shorter, roughly two-thirds of Macklin’s girth, but he had mastered him with his skill, which came, Gates suspected, from a lifetime of this, knowing what to do to please men. Interludes in the bushes, in alleyways, always hidden, and absolutely no comfort. Gates had a feeling that Flint’s original yellow haired man had maybe offered him that and if Flint were to go on without him, so he would without. A bed. Linen. Privacy. Maybe more than a handjob. All the times Gates had seen this play out in different ports it had never moved to past that. It would be easy to avoid entanglements if it was a few minutes in the dark with his hand on another man’s cock.

Flint looked up and for a moment Gates thought he’d seen him hidden there, but no, he’d raised his head to hawk a glob of spit onto his hand. Gates heard the squelch as Flint used the slick to work faster, the lubrication provided ease. Macklin’s breaths sped up and Flint continued at his own pace, even and smooth. He rolled his wrist over at the tip. It looked decadent. Flint kept at it he knew what to do as Macklin started to move his hips involuntarily. Gates amended his estimation; Flint had been jerking men off to culmination since he was a wee babe. He frowned. It would explain some of his ways with men. Gates hoped Flint found some comfort in Mrs. Barlow’s arms that wasn’t this. No. _Compulsion._ Flint being in control always. He noticed that Flint’s cock was still hard, untouched with Macklin being preoccupied with his own pleasure.

Gates could see Flint’s arm work, with Macklin’s cock and then cockhead, which peeked out on each pull. Macklin slapped his hand onto Flint’s hand, which held his mouth shut. Flint immediately used the other to cup the end of Macklin’s dick, and caught his emission with palm and fingers. After Macklin appeared to be done, Flint took his hand away, and then removed his other from Macklin’s mouth. He showed the palm to Macklin, who licked a thick stripe into his mouth. Gates heard Macklin moan. Flint immediately slapped his wet hand onto Macklin’s mouth. _I said to be quiet._

It took Gates a moment to see Macklin lick Flint’s hand, and Flint let him, and moved his hand so that Macklin could to get to every crevice. _Well done._ Macklin nodded and moved to do up his breeches. Gates couldn’t move – it was too late to back away, they’d notice movement, especially Flint who faced him. He should have left earlier but seeing it to culmination…

Gates saw Macklin lamely point to Flint’s still hard dick, but Flint shook his head no. Macklin shrugged and was dressed shortly, belt on and weapons in the right places. Gates tensed. Flint didn’t move to do up his breeches, and Gates frowned. Just as Macklin was about to head toward Gates and the barrels Flint drawled that perhaps Macklin should exit via the whorehouse to make it look as if he’d partaken there. Macklin nodded and went the other way. Gates let out a silent sigh of relief.

Flint looked straight at Gates as soon as the Macklin’s footsteps disappeared. He gripped his hard cock, with other hand holding up his breeches casually, and came toward Gates, each step deliberate. _What do you want? This?_ Flint smiled, razor sharp, wicked. _You keep following me. You keep looking at me._ He did a long slow stroke that showed off his cock to best advantage, smooth and straight, the red curls bleached to pale in the moonlight. Gates nodded and immediately Flint was in his space, which he used to push him back against the barrels. Gates nearly let loose a panicked yelp but stopped himself in time. He couldn’t cope if Flint told him to be quiet in that voice. He’d— embarrass himself worse than he had now. Spying. Flint grabbed Gates’s arm and yanked so that he swung around and hit the wall beside the barrels. He’d known Flint was strong, but to have it used against him was something else.

Flint took the same position as he had with Macklin, and he again unbuttoned breeches at speed. Gates sucked in a breath as he was bared to the air, and Flint didn’t give him enough time to acclimatise, before he gave him a couple of experimental pumps before he stopped. Flint placed the hand which had briefly jerked Gates off in front of his mouth. Gates didn’t know what to do. Flint slapped his mouth. _Spit._ The word was harsh. Gates obeyed and Flint rubbed his thumb against Gates’s lip. _Good._ He moved his hand onto Gates’s cock. There was a slight squelch before his spit covered his cock. He wanted to moan but didn’t want Flint to slap his mouth closed as he had Macklin.

Flint did a few pulls, and Gates felt Flint’s fingers close as he reached the head, perfect. Flint easily got the rhythm of what he liked – how? – and proceeded to make his thoughts cloudy. It blurred the reasons why this was a bad idea, to let Flint have control over this part of him, when he already had control of the rest, especially on board the Walrus. Gates looked sideways at Flint and expected to meet his eyes but they were closed. He allowed himself to look, to see the flushed skin and moustache points. Flint opened his eyes and caught him at it. Gates wanted to look away but couldn’t, caught by the wide gaze.

Flint stepped closer to him, until his dick was pressed to Gates’s hip. Again, Gates controlled himself before he could emit a sound. Flint smiled. _It’s one thing to want a helping hand_ — Flint tightened his fingers around Gates — _and another to want another man’s cock._ Flint continued to grind against him, and Gates had a moment to think that it would hurt on rough fabric, and metal studded belt, before he remembered it was Flint. Captain Flint, nearly always bloody, sometimes bruised, sometimes with broken bones. It had never occurred to Gates that Flint wanted it, wanted to be hurt, wanted _to_ hurt.

Gates opened his mouth to tell Flint to stop but Flint dropped to his knees and immediately took Gates’s hard member into his mouth. Gates couldn’t help the moan this time, as the wet warmth enveloped him. Flint got one hand at the base, and then used both mouth and fingers in tandem. It felt so warm there in his crotch, fire-hot even. He didn’t think Flint would do this – far more vulnerable act. But it wasn’t really, he realised, Flint was still in charge, he controlled how much of Gates’s cock went into his mouth with his hand. His mouth had the bare minimum of suction, and even still it was wonderful. Men’s cocks were all different Gates was sure, but it sure helped if one possessed one to become adept at cocksucking, if Flint’s expertise was anything to go by. But then again Flint was good at everything he turned his mind to, piracy included.

Gates felt his face flush, the warmth move through his chest. The tightness in his balls increased, warmth there too as he felt Flint cup his balls. A wave moved over him as Flint continued. Flint suddenly took his hand away from Gates’s cock, and with that gone, Flint impaled himself on him. There were a few moments of hard pleasure before Gates’s thoughts were covered with white foam as his dick was finally encased in Flint’s mouth fully. He couldn’t help the involuntary thrust, as his cock hit the back of Flint’s throat. Flint choked for a moment or two before he adjusted and placed his palms onto Gates’s buttocks and pulled Gates towards him. It took Gates a moment before he realised what Flint wanted. He thrust into Flint’s mouth and was met with suction and liquid. He realised that Flint’s mouth was flooded with saliva because he couldn’t swallow, added on top of Gates’s leakage.

It was a mouth bared into a smirk, or a line of disapproval, or open shouting commands, but Jesus if it weren’t meant for this too. Gates could feel his peak approach and he was one of those who went from 4 to 20 knots in a second. He didn’t want to make another noise, so he slid his hand through Flint’s hair and yanked his head back using the hair in the tie. Flint stopped, looked up and nodded slightly. He wanted him to…?

Gates noticed Flint’s hand went to his own neglected cock. Flint started to move his hand fast, a blur. Flint again pushed himself forward so that Gates was at his throat and then … more. As expected he felt it rise, swing for a wave, and then knockdown. He gushed into Flint’s warm wet mouth for a long time before he opened his eyes. Flint drew away slowly and Gates’s cock slipped out from his mouth and the tip trailed down his upturned chin, which left a pearly mark. Flint swallowed visibly as he rose to his feet. Gates noticed as Flint rapidly softened. Flint tucked himself away, buttoned his breeches before he strapped on belt, dagger and his sword all without a word.

Gates realised that it was the end. They weren’t going to discuss further. Men, he supposed, were not like women to talk or linger. Anyway, this was Flint. Gates did the same, clothes, weapons on. It was as if nothing had happened. He already felt a loss, maybe of what was there before, and maybe of what they were to be to each other now.

 _Wait._ Gates said quietly. There would never be another chance to ask, he knew. _Who was he? Yellow haired and tall?_

Flint’s pale eyes were charcoal as he turned around to look at Gates. He didn’t respond, just stared at Gates for a few moments before he headed away down toward the whorehouse.

Gates never saw Flint approach another tall blond man again.

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of another story I'm working on, which is currently giving me conniptions. I'll add it to it once I'm done, so subscribe to it, if you desire. This is standalone though, like most of my longer stories.


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